Christmas Cookies
by Jelsemium
Summary: Steve's desire for homemade cookies leads to a bet between Tony and Clint. Gen, not even any bromance. Rating for possible potty language.


Christmas Cookies

By Jelsemium

For Qweb

It started because Steve Rogers became nostalgic over his mother's Christmas cookies. He looked through catalogs of baked goods and wondered aloud about what professional bakers ate. "Do they trade among themselves?"

"They probably eat their own cooking," Clint Barton said, looking up from the Christmas issue of Urban Bowhunter. ("Flying reindeer, myth or good eating?")

"Is that done anymore?" Steve asked. "Seems to me that nowadays nobody eats anything that they cooked themselves."

"Wow, that's pretty cynical coming from you," Clint said.

"Cynical coming from anybody," Tony Stark said, butting into the conversation. He looked up from his hand held computer and smirked.

Clint raised an eyebrow at Tony. "Why do you sound so proud of that?" he asked.

"I taught him everything he knows about cynicism," Tony boasted.

"Actually, I learned most of it from your father," Steve threw in; earning himself surprised looks from his teammates. He really was feeling out of sorts, he thought. However, he suppressed the instinct to apologize. He wasn't sorry and these two wouldn't appreciate an apology, anyway.

After several moments, Tony finally shrugged. "Okay, so it's a family business," he said. "It's not easy to overcome your natural amiability and optimism."

That confused Steve because it almost sounded like a compliment. Clint, however, figured out what Tony was trying to say.

"He wants to know what's eating you?" he said.

Steve sighed. "I was just thinking about my mother's Christmas cookies," he admitted.

He waited for a sarcastic comment from Tony, but the billionaire just nodded. "Mom's cookies are always the best," he said.

"I wonder how difficult it would be to make gingerbread cookies," Steve said, trying to not sound wistful.

Either the other two didn't pick up on his feelings or chose to act like they hadn't. Either way, Steve was grateful.

"Cookies are easy," Tony said confidently.

"Yeah, for you," Clint said. "Not when all you have to do is pick up a phone and have a dozen or so bakers leap to your bidding."

Tony shook his head and a mocking expression crossed his face. "Barton, if that was supposed to be cynical and cutting, then you're going to have to up your game. Even Rogers can do better than that."

Before Clint could reply, Tony continued. "Besides, I wasn't talking about buying cookies; I was talking about baking cookies."

"From a store bought batter…" Clint started.

"From scratch!" Tony insisted.

"You?" Clint blurted. Steve was glad that Clint had said it, because he'd had the same thought.

"_Me_!" Tony insisted, tapping on his arc reactor to emphasize his point.

"I'm surprised," Steve admitted.

"Why?" Tony demanded. "Baking is just applied chemistry. Anybody can do it!"

"This is from the guy who almost burned down the kitchen while making coffee?" Clint was laying on the incredulity.

"Hey, that was different," Tony insisted. "I was trying out a new coffee maker… before I had my first cup of coffee!"

"I don't think that a strong cup of coffee requires an arc reactor powered coffee maker," Steve said mildly.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he said.

"Whoa, let's not go off on a tangent," Clint said. "Stark says that he can bake cookies from scratch, I would like to see him try."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "What's it to you, Natty Bumppo?"

Steve laughed.

Clint shot him an annoyed look. "Must be a really old reference if you get it," he said.

"He was the original Hawkeye," Tony informed Hawkeye.

"What? Get out!" Hawkeye snorted.

"It's true," Steve said. "The character is from an 1830's book," Steve paused. "Didn't you read _Last of the Mohicans_ in high school?"

"I didn't go to high school," Clint informed him.

It didn't occur to Steve until later that this was unusual. A lot of successful people in his day hadn't gone to high school. "You should read it sometime," he said.

"Bah," was Clint's reply. "Stop trying to change the subject from Stark's lack of cooking skills."

"We aren't talking cooking skills, Bumppo," Tony corrected. "We are talking about baking skills. Although I _do_ have both."

"Prove it," Clint challenged.

"You still haven't told me why I should," Tony replied. "And maybe your Indian name shouldn't be Hawkeye but He Who Changes Subject."

"Okay, what stakes do you _want_ to play for?" Clint replied.

Before Tony could come up with a ridiculous and life threatening forfeit, Steve made an executive decision. "Whoever loses has to read _Last of the Mohicans_."

Tony and Clint exchanged looks.

"Not just read it," Steve amended. "Since this is, as you keep reminding me, the 'future,' the loser has to read the entire novel aloud, on…"

"Video?" Clint asked.

"YouTube?" Tony guessed.

"Exactly," Steve said. He still wasn't sure exactly what YouTube was, but he knew it was a public forum and that neither of his teammates would care for this experience.

"Only if I can wear a mask," Clint said.

"HA! Already preparing to lose, eh, Feathers?"

"And Tony has to wear a dress," Clint added.

"Done!" Tony sneered. "Okay, I'm off to the store…"

"Oh, no you don't!" Clint said. "You are baking these from scratch, no pre-made; just add water mix for you!"

Tony glared at him, "Don't you trust me?"

Clint put his hand over his heart. "With my life, my wallet and even my bow," he proclaimed. "But not with this. I'll buy the ingredients. _You_ stay here and get ready to play Susie Homemaker."

Tony threw his hands up in the air. "Fine, just be quick about it!"

Clint grinned evilly.

"I'll go with him," Steve said. "There's something I want at the store, anyway." It was a lie, but it didn't bother him to throw it out because the others weren't fooled. That made it socially acceptable, like a poker game where everybody was _expected_ lie.

It took longer for Clint and Steve to agree on which recipe that Tony should follow. Clint was disappointed by the lack of difficult recipes.

"Well, we really should find a recipe that he would enjoy," Steve said mildly.

"Yeah, but we want cookies, not a cocktail," Clint replied.

Steve didn't answer that. He remembered drinking ginger beer cocktails when he was in England. He supposed they could have been called Gingerbread Men.

However, they finally settled on a recipe for the cookies and for the frosting, as Clint insisted that they had to be frosted. Then they had to find a Target store where they could buy the ingredients, a paperback copy of Last of the Mohicans, a ski mask (for Clint) and a video camera.

"I'm sure that Stark has plenty of video equipment," Steve protested.

"I know, but I don't," Clint said. "This seems like a good time to pick up one that I like.'

Steve rolled his eyes. "Okay, but we're not buying a dress."

"Fine," Clint replied. "I wouldn't know what size to get, anyway." He paused and added. "So, what was it that _you_ needed to get?"

"Um," Steve grabbed a fruit cake. "I wanted one of these."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Nobody eats fruitcake!"

"Then why do they sell it?" Steve asked.

"For a joke," Clint replied.

"You should try it," Steve urged.

"I'd rather eat Tony's cookies," Clint grumbled.

After delivering the ingredients, Clint and Steve settled down in the lounge area, AKA the Assembly Room, to read and await the results. Since the book was now on his mind, Steve started re-reading Last of the Mohicans.

Clint, rather defiantly, was reading a comic book. Something about an archer named Green Arrow. After forty minutes of reading in companionable silence, an enticing aroma filled the room.

"I smell cookies," Clint Barton announced. He headed for the kitchen, only to be stymied by Stark.

"Your nose is as keen as your eyes, Natty," Stark replied through the kitchen door. "But you can't come in until they're finished!"

"What's the matter, Shellhead?" Clint taunted. "Figured out that you've lost?"

"No, they're not cool enough to be frosted yet," Tony replied. "You can't complain because _you're_ the one who insisted that they _had_ to be frosted."

Clint huffed back to his seat, but was clearly not concentrating on his comic book.

It was almost an hour after the tantalizing odor of spices and cookies first arrived before Tony allowed them into the kitchen.

There were several racks of unfrosted gingerbread men cooling on the counter. However, there was one platter loaded with a neatly arranged phalanx of gingerbread men that were fully frosted and ready to eat.

However, they weren't covered in Christmas green and red. They were covered with _gold_ and red. The pattern was meticulously rendered and very familiar to the two Avengers.

"Gingerbread _Iron Men_?" Steve asked, surprised that he was surprised.

Barton took one look at the army of Gingerbread Iron Men and rolled his eyes. "For chrissake, Stark, does _everything_ have to be about _you_?"

Stark picked up the platter of Gingerbread Iron Men and offered it to the archer and said, "Barton, this is just my festive way of saying… _bite me_."


End file.
